


Lions Tell the Best Tales

by spiritofemby



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 07:41:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2059695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritofemby/pseuds/spiritofemby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sera /really/ wants a story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lions Tell the Best Tales

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Long Lankin by Aedan Cousland, which can be found here: http://aedancousland.tumblr.com/post/40308252696

“Tell us one of them scary shem stories, would you?” Cullen looked up from his sword, whetstone in hand. Sera was looking at him expectantly, eyes bright and smile wide. “It’s so dreadful travelling all the time, there’s never any good taverns and everyone is such a bore. You’ve got to know something, I know you do, so go on with it already!”

 

Cullen’s brow wrinkled at the inquiry, “I.. only know of one, it’s really more of a ballad than a story...” Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Inquisitor’s eyes lift up curiously, a small smile gracing her lips.

 

Sera sat up even straighter, excitedly gesturing to their comrades.  “Bull, Solas, get over here. The ser is going to sing us a song!”

 

“...it’s a ballad...,” he muttered, putting up his weapon and tools before settling himself comfortably by the fire. Bull ambled over in time, unusually quiet, with a full wineskin in hand. Solas perched nearby on his heels, while Sera nestled up to Lavellan. _Ceren,_ he thought to himself, _I wonder what she will think?_

 

“The Free Marchers came to town telling stories of an Avvar stonemason called Long Lankin that roamed the lands. They claimed that Lankin was the finest mason that ever laid stone. They said he built a lords castle, but for payment, got none. So he built it without and he built it within, and he made a false window for himself to get in.”

 

Clearing his throat quietly, Cullen began the ballad:

 

_Said to my lord to my lady, as he mounted his horse._

_“Beware of Long Lankin that lives in the March.”_

_Said my lord to my lady as he went on his way._

_“Beware of Long Lankin that lives in the hay._

_Let the doors be all bolted, the windows all pinned._

_And leave not a hole for a mouse to creep in.”_

_So the doors were all bolted, the windows all pinned._

_all but one little window where Lankin crept in._

_“Where is the lord of this house?” said Long Lankin._

_“He’s away in Ferelden,” said the false nurse to him._

_“Where is the little lord of the house?” said Long Lankin._

_“He’s asleep in his cradle,” said the false nurse to him._

_“We’ll prick, we’ll prick him, all over with a pin._

_And that shall make my lady to come down to him.”_

_So they pricked him, they pricked him, all over with a pin._

_And the nurse held a basin for the blood to flow in._

 

Sera gasped at that, her hands reaching up to cover her mouth. “Do the Avvar really do that to babes?” Cullen opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a quiet voice.

 

“Shh, _lethallan_ , let him finish his story.”

 

“But...”

 

“The Avvar people are no different than us, most anyone will do unspeakable things in the name of revenge.” Sera did not seem mollified at that, but gestured for him to continue.

 

_“Oh nurse how you slumber, oh nurse how you sleep._

_You leave my little son Hayden to cry and to weep.”_

_“I have tried him with apples, I’ve tried him with pears._

_Come down my dear lady, nurse him at your breast.”_

_“How can I come down in the dead of the night?_

_When there’s no candle burning, no moon to give light?”_

_“You have three silver candles, all light as the sun._

_Come down my dear lady, but by the light of one.”_

_So my lady came downstairs, fearing no harm._

_Long Lankin stood ready to catch her in his arms._

_“Oh spare me Long Lankin, spare me but one day._

_You shall have as much gold as you can carry away._

_Oh spare me Long Lankin, spare me but one hour._

_You can have my daughter Lysha, she’s a fair tender flower.”_

_“Oh where’s your daughter Lysha? She may do some good._

_And she can hold the basin to catch your lifes blood.”_

_Lady Lysha sat watching, that cold winters night._

_Saw her father coming home with his men at daylight._

_“Oh father, oh father, what took you so long?_

_Your lady is murdered, and your own darling son._

_There is blood in the kitchen, there is blood in the hall._

_But the blood of my mother is the worst blood of all.”_

_Long Lankin was hung a gibbet so high._

_And the false nurse was burned in a fire close by._

 

The only sound following his voice were the crickets and the crackling of the fire. Sera was gripping her hair, eyes wide, while Solas merely looked amused. Bull was taking a heavy drag out of his wineskin, and Ceren... well, she was looking right at him, almost through him. But then her eyes shifted, and all he could see was fear.

 

Cullen reached for his forgotten sword and hastily clamored to his feet as his companions moved around him. He stilled instantly, however, when he saw what they were facing. Sera reacted next, and more importantly, violently. She climbed up the Bull’s back, shrieking obscenities and brandishing her daggers. Ceren was stalking towards the edge of the campsite, her shield raised before her face and her sword in a carefully chosen stance. Solas, Maker praise him, had the foresight to flood the clearing with light. 

 

“Sers, _sers!_ I mean you no harm!.. _.agh, please don’t throw knives at me...”_

 

It was clear now what they were truly facing. A very menacing, _very dangerous_... Redcliffe town guard.

 

_Maker’s breath, I must have misjudged exactly how close we were to town..._

 

Cullen vowed never again to tell them, or _sing_ them, scary stories in the dead of the night. _Ever._

 


End file.
